


between yesterday and tomorrow

by BnessZ



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bokuto is just too soft, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Non-binary character, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 17:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/BnessZ
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou really thought he could be happy never seeing Akaashi Keiji's face again.Turns out, he was wrong. Very wrong





	between yesterday and tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blooberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooberry/gifts).



> hi hi. I finally finished my first giveaway fic, this one for [Alex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooberry/pseuds/blooberry) There was SO much more I wanted to add, more tension, breaking down walls, but I already went over my 5k, so I hope you'll accept and love this still! It was a pleasure to write this for you <3 
> 
> And to everyone else, please go look at Alex's [twitter](https://twitter.com/creiuz)! Their art is so amazing and Beautiful, i really really love it 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!~
> 
> Also big thanks to both [Bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livennadin/works) and [Stella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/choir) for helping me along the way and being my betas, Much love to you both! <3

Bokuto Koutarou all but whines at the coach. “Please, please, anyone else.” 

 

The coach raises a brow. “Akaashi has the best grades on the team and you're about to get yourself kicked off of the team.”

 

Koutarou groans. “I  _ know  _ that, but they—”

 

“Besides,” the coach continues, undeterred, “Akaashi has potential to be our next starting setter. It’d be in your best interest to learn to get along with them.” 

 

Koutarou scoffs and turns his head away as the coach calls Akaashi over. He doesn’t want to look over, he already knows what he’ll see: a first year with curly raven hair, piercing and cold eyes the color of slated teal, flawless porcelain skin, long and slender fingers, lean but muscular frame. Their expression is always stoic, lips set in a straight line, always peering ahead at the goal. They don’t speak often, and when they do, the words are always quiet, often scathing. 

 

Akaashi “Perfect And Pretentious” Keiji. 

 

A sigh, tired and resigned, has Koutarou looking back up. Akaashi has a hand on their hip, head slightly turned towards Koutarou, gaze calculating. A towel is wrapped around their shoulders, water bottle in hand. 

 

Koutarou grows warm under the gaze, from anger, he’s sure, and his fingers twitch. “What?” 

 

A long pause. “Nothing. Let's figure out a studying schedule.”

 

*

 

_ Keiji remembers the first time they saw Bokuto Koutarou.  _

 

_ He was on the other side of the court, loud and wearing the brightest smile Keiji had ever seen. The jersey was tight on him, and when the setter gave him a practice toss, Bokuto ran up with a tongue peeking out, Keiji was surprised at the unfaltering focus.  _

 

_ Bokuto’s palm met the ball, spiked it down nice and strong, a good course, but the sound wasn’t satisfying.  _

 

_ A bummer, Keiji thought after a well fought battle with Bokuto’s team. A bummer that that setter could not draw out Bokuto’s strength, could not use all of Bokuto’s power, could not figure out how to help Bokuto when Bokuto got into a slump.  _

 

_ Keiji has always wondered if Bokuto’s team might have beat them even once in high school if Bokuto had had a different setter.  _

 

*

 

A groan slips past Koutarou’s lips when a knock sounds at his door. 

 

It’s Tuesday, the sole weekday without practice, and all Koutarou wants to do now that classes are over is nap. But unfortunately, having no practice means that Akaashi is also free. And that means Koutarou has to study.

 

Before he’s even out of his room, Koutarou hears the door open. “Oh, Akaashi.” 

 

“Ah, Kuroo-san.” The voice is cold and quiet, like silk. “Pardon the intrusion.” 

 

Koutarou comes down the hall just in time for Kuroo to turn around, give him a wide smirk, and move so Akaashi can toe off their shoes. “Not a problem, not a problem,” Kuroo says, still leering at Koutarou. 

 

“Don’t you have a date to get to?” Koutarou asks. 

 

“Oh, thanks for the reminder that, while you  _ study,  _ I get to make out with a hot piece—”

 

“Ugh, gross,” Koutarou sighs. “Tell Sawamura I still think he should break up with you.” 

 

“That hurts, bro!” Kuroo replies, already sauntering away.

 

A huff of air, like a breeze passing between trees, has Koutarou turning back to Akaashi. They stand in the entryway, a hand over their lips, looking off to the side, almost bashful. A bag is slung over one shoulder and Koutarou pauses, just barely, at their casual wear. Straight legged blue jeans, black and white flannel thrown over a white shirt. They look...normal, and Koutarou isn’t sure what to say anymore. 

 

Akaashi clears their throat, looks back at Koutarou with the usual bored expression. “Good afternoon, Bokuto-san.” 

 

“Ah, yeah, hey, Akaashi.” Koutarou scratches at the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of his sweatpants and almost too small white shirt. “You can set up at the table if you want, I’ll make some tea.” 

 

“Mmm, Thank you.” 

 

Koutarou busies himself in the kitchen, watching Akaashi out of the corner of his eye. They set their bag down carefully, pulling out a notebook and calculator, laying them down straight and neat. They fiddle with their hands then, and look around, taking in the cluttered bookshelves, the volleyball and owl posters lining the walls. It makes Koutarou self conscious, to have Akaashi’s always analyzing gaze on his home. 

 

Akaashi looks more comfortable than Koutarou expected. They bring their feet together on the chair, knees bobbing up and down on either side. After another moment of digging around in the bag, they slip on a pair of glasses, and Koutarou— 

 

The tea kettle whistles and Koutarou jumps, rushing to turn off the stovetop and pour their drinks.

 

When handed a mug, Akaashi immediately curls both hands around it, fingers ghosting over Koutarou's for just a second, closing their eyes and inhaling deeply. “Thank you.”

 

Koutarou stills for just a moment before regaining himself, muttering a “sure” and sitting across from the Akaashi. 

 

“Okay,” Akaashi says through a sigh. They set the mug down, fingers running over the corner of the textbook, ruffling the pages, over and over. “What is it that you don't understand?”

 

Blunt and straight to the point with a face akin to a blank sheet of paper, as always.

 

Koutarou gives a humorless chuckle. “All of it.”

 

Akaashi's fingers still. They blink once. Twice. “Excuse me?”

 

Koutarou lets out a frustrated groan. “It's just all…” he flails his arms around, desperately trying to grasp an answer. “Numbers that come from nowhere and mean nothing put into formulas that I have no way of remembering.”

 

There is no laugh, no annoyed comeback, like Koutarou expects. Just a long, thoughtful stare that chills Koutarou to the bone because _those teal eyes are made of steel._

 

“Do you have a worksheet to do?”

 

The question is so sudden that Koutarou fumbles a bit before nodding. 

 

“Fill it out as best you can so I can see exactly what I'm working with.”

 

It's eerie. Eerie and unnerving and aggravating to fill out this math sheet while Akaashi sits across from him. Not only does Koutarou not understand the problems at all, but Akaashi is so damned quiet and calm, studying for their own classes and checking on Koutarou every now and then as if they belong here. They're supposed to be uncomfortable in an unknown place, supposed to jitter more than the bouncing knees. 

 

It takes Koutarou longer than usual to put down definitely wrong answers because every time Akaashi looks at him, the eyes are cut in half by black frames and the curls on their head shift ever so slightly and they somehow look more open than Koutarou ever thought possible. 

“Here,” he finally huffs out, sliding the paper roughly across the table.

 

Akaashi finishes writing out a sentence and then reaches for the worksheet without looking up, tapping their pencil on the table. The pencil clicks faster the more Akaashi looks, their eyebrows pinching together and mouth screwing into a grimace. 

 

Finally, “these are all wrong.” 

 

Akaashi is looking at Koutarou now, eyes boring into him. It’s hard for Koutarou to tell if they’re angry or simply annoyed, or maybe even just confused. Their lips are pursed together, but their eyebrows have smoothed out, and the tone of voice isn’t accusing or harsh, it just…  _ is.  _

 

“Uh, yeah,” Koutarou scratches at the back of his neck. “Like I said, I just don’t… get it.”

 

For the next twenty minutes, Akaashi tries to explain the problems practically. They do it much the way his professor did, except more nudging, asking leading questions to try and get Koutarou to find the answers himself. It almost works, too. Koutarou can follow the diagrams and drawings Akaashi makes to emphasize their points, but there is always a point where he gets stuck. 

 

“You were doing so well,” Akaashi says, “what’s stopping you?” 

 

“That number. Where did that number come from?” 

 

Akaashi backtracks, explains slowly, writes out every step and even adds arrows to show how the number changes, how it becomes what it does and how to input it. Koutarou gets it. 

 

But when Koutarou tries on his own, he fails again.

 

“Ugh!” Koutarou drops his head onto the table. “The worst. This is the worst. I’m never gonna pass.” 

 

Akaashi is so quiet, Koutarou almost forgets that they are there at all. When they speak again, the question surprises him. 

 

“Bokuto-san, who is on the national volleyball team?” 

 

Koutarou turns his head to Akaashi, still on the table, and blinks. “What?”

 

“What are their names and positions?” 

 

Koutarou still doesn’t understand, but he answers anyway. 

 

“Mmm,” Akaashi looks at something on his phone. They continue to ask a mix of questions, about volleyball, about animals, about music and literature and cooking and Koutarou doesn’t get it, but he answers every question as best he can. After a while, Akaashi hums, jots something down, and then looks at Koutarou. 

 

“I think we’ve done all we can today.” 

 

Their voice is irritatingly calm and Koutarou snaps his head over to them, feeling hot all over. “You’re giving up already? I didn’t even—”

 

“Not giving up.” Akaashi begins putting everything away into their bag, even goes as far as to rinse their mug out in Koutarou’s sink. “I have realized that traditional study methods do not work for you and I need to think of a plan. But that means that there is nothing else we can do today.”   

 

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” he grumbles. 

 

A sigh. “Bokuto-san, you’re smart, you just need to find something that gives the numbers meaning. You’ll never be able to use them otherwise.”  

 

Koutarou stills, watches in stunned silence as Akaashi slips their shoes on. A compliment is not something he expected from Akaashi, and it’s been a long time since anyone used the word  _ smart  _ to describe him. 

 

“I’ll see you at practice,” Akaashi says, breaking the silence, bowing from the doorway. “Thanks for having me.” 

 

“Ah!” Koutarou stands up, reaching for the doorknob before Akaashi can. “Thank you,” he mutters, “I’ll see you.” 

 

“Mmm. Enjoy your day.” 

 

And just like that, Akaashi Keiji is gone, leaving Koutarou irritated for a reason he can’t pinpoint, and very confused. 

 

*

 

_ After that first match, Keiji ran into Bokuto in the hallway. _

 

_ He looked somewhere between a laugh and a scream, bouncing on his toes with eyes closed. He'd already changed, wearing school sweatpants and his volleyball team jacket and flip flops. Keiji raised a brow at them, noting the pelting rain outside, but said nothing. Looking around, Keiji noticed that none of Bokuto's teammates seemed to be nearby. _

 

_ They cleared their throat. “Um, Bokuto-san?” _

 

_ Eyes snapped open, bright, molten gold. Conflicting emotions swirled in them but hardened once they locked on Keiji's face. _

 

_ “What?”  _

 

_ Keiji jumped slightly at the tone, started playing with their fingers, but refused to look away. “I wanted to say that you played very well.” _

 

_ A smile twitched on his face, but only for a second before pulling into a frown. “Not good enough, though.” _

 

_ “I disagree. I think you… played perfectly. Your team—” _

 

_ “Don't.” Bokuto said, and his eyes were dark then, jaw set.  _

 

_ Keiji shifted their weight, chewed on their words, before trying again. “I enjoyed playing against you. And watching you play.” _

 

_ Bokuto studied them for a long moment. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” _

 

_ “Can I ask you something?” _

 

_ “I guess.” _

 

_ Keiji bit their lip. “Does your setter give you the tosses you want?” _

 

_ Bokuto stilled, looked over Keiji's head at nothing with a stare more intense than the sun. His fists curled and uncurled at his sides and his jaw tensed even more. _

 

_ “Bokuto-san?” _

 

_ He clicked his tongue and turned away, already walking the opposite direction when he replied. “Who do you even think you are?” _

 

_ Keiji watched him go, watched those broad shoulders slowly fall, and wondered what they said wrong. _

  
  


*

 

Since Tuesday, Akaashi has taken to greeting Koutarou everyday and giving feedback after practices. 

 

It’s irritating at first, but then Koutarou realizes that they honestly want to help and get better themselves, and he loosens up. Every now and then, they bring up a random question again and nod, looking as if they take a mental note, when he responds. 

 

Sunday after practice, Akaashi walks home with Koutarou. It still sets Koutarou on edge to be close to them, but he finds Akaashi’s calm rubbing off on him with each accidental shoulder brush.

 

When they get to his apartment, Koutarou makes tea and sets a bowl of fruit on the table as Akaashi sits down, pulling out only a single notebook this time. They open it up and Koutarou can see neat handwriting, the pages sectioned off into groups. When he sits down, he notices many erase marks, and even a small tear, as if Akaashi got frustrated at some point. 

 

“Thank you,” Akaashi says when they wrap a hand around their tea. They close their eyes and inhale the scent again, and if Koutarou didn’t know better, he’d think there was a small grin resting on Akaashi’s lips. 

 

“Uh, yeah,” he blinks when Akaashi takes a sip, making a content noise in the back of their throat. “No problem.” 

 

It isn’t long before those steel eyes are opening, staring right into Koutarou’s. They’re not as sharp as usual, almost more tentative than anything. Koutarou feels his eyebrows pull together, his head tilt to the side. The eyes follow his movements, and then there is a flash of something before they harden into the piercing gaze Koutarou is used to. 

 

“Do you have practice problems?” 

 

Koutarou starts, tearing his gaze away and clearing his throat. “Yeah, they’re right here. I, uh, tried to do a few, but…” 

 

Humming, Akaashi takes the paper from him. Their fingers brush over the back of his hand. Again.  “You got stuck in the same place again.” 

 

Koutarou groans. 

 

Akaashi drops the paper and gives him an almost soft look, before turning their notebook for him to see. “I came up with an idea,” they say, slowly, fingers smoothing over the paper, gaze down. Their knees bounce faster than before, teeth grazing across their bottom lip. “I’m not sure it’ll work, but if you can learn to associate the numbers and formulas with something you enjoy, like volleyball, it might help you.” 

 

Silence. 

 

Akaashi looks up at Koutarou, gnawing on their lip. Guarded anxiety is swimming in their eyes, but Koutarou hardly has a chance to register it. He just stares, not necessarily taking anything in, just processing Akaashi’s words. It’s a simple idea, one that Koutarou is surprised no one else has ever mentioned to him over the years (though, he maybe shouldn’t be, given that no one has given him a second chance when he’s asked for it), but he doesn’t know how to execute it. 

 

After a little while longer, Akaashi leans back, starts fiddling with their fingers, a habit. No, not fiddling right now. Pinching. 

 

Akaashi Keiji is  _ anxious.  _

 

“Bokuto-san?”

 

He really doesn’t mean to, but Koutarou can’t help the laugh that bursts through his lips. “Sorry,” he says around a chuckle. “Sorry, it’s just that… I never expected you to come up with something like this.” 

 

A hint of pink touches Akaashi’s cheeks and they look back down at the paper. “What makes you say that?” 

 

“Mmmm,” Koutarou grabs the notebook, excited to read the notes, for once. “It’s just unconventional.” 

 

“I’m not a prude, you know.” 

 

“I don’t know,” Koutarou replies, before he can think against it. Akaashi chooses not to answer. Koutarou resists the urge to look at them and instead skims the notes. It’s a detailed plan, with multiple steps, outlining possible outcomes, which parts of the problem to associate to which aspects of volleyball, and some side notes and alternatives. 

 

“Akaashi,” Koutarou whispers. “This is amazing. Did you think of this all on your own?” 

 

A small shrug. “I’ve seen similar ideas… in movies.” 

 

“Still amazing.” Koutarou smiles at Akaashi. “Let’s give it a try!” 

 

It’s a long process. They spend hours reworking formulas to fit into volleyball terms, Koutarou writing everything out multiple times, listening to Akaashi’s calm, patient voice, trying problems again and again. But, after a while, Koutarou starts getting some of the questions correct on his own and Akaashi even offers a ghost of a smile.

 

When Akaashi slides their glasses off to rub at their eyes, Koutarou’s own stinging from overuse, Koutarou stands up. Akaashi blinks at him, face softening in a sleepy way. Koutarou feels something in his chest squeeze at the sight and he quickly walks past Akaashi into the kitchen. 

 

“Here,” he says around a yawn. “I’ll make some dinner.” 

 

“Oh, that’s not—” Akaashi’s stomach growls. They blush the faintest pink and look away. “Okay. Thank you.” 

 

Koutarou laughs. “Anything you want in particular?” 

 

“Anything is fine,” they murmur, putting papers away. “All food is good.” 

 

A snort. “You're not wrong.”

 

It's weird, Koutarou thinks, as he brings out ingredients. It's weird how calm Akaashi is in his home, how Akaashi is so different here than on the court. It's weird, Koutarou thinks, looking over to see Akaashi scrolling idly on their phone, that everything suddenly feels so normal.

 

Koutarou has just finished prepping the ingredients when Akaashi speaks again, quiet, hesitant. “Bokuto-san?”

 

Putting the food in the pan, Koutarou turns around. He finds Akaashi looking down at their hands, playing with their fingers. “Yes?”

 

Akaashi stills for a moment, looks up at Koutarou. “I—”

 

The front door bursts open, laughter streaming in. Akaashi jumps, hitting a knee on the table, whipping their head around. It's Kuroo and Sawamura, faces flushed and beaming, hands laced together even as they toe off their shoes.

 

Koutarou wrinkles his nose at them. “Welcome back,” he drawls.

 

“Ah,” Sawamura says. “Hello, Bokuto, pardon the intrusion.”

 

“No need to be so formal with him,” Kuroo says. “Not like he knows how to be polite anyways…” his voice trails off, eyes landing on Akaashi. “Oh, hey, Kaashi, didn't expect you to be here still.”

 

Koutarou just catches Akaashi pulling a face before he turns back to dinner. “Please don't call me that, Kuroo-san.”

 

“Akaashi's staying for dinner,” Koutarou says. “It's the least I can do to thank them for tutoring me.”

 

“And how is that going?”

 

Koutarou turns away from the food to give Kuroo and Sawamura a bright smile. “Great! I actually worked through an assignment by myself!”

 

“Wow, so you're not so dumb after all.”

 

It's said in a teasing manner, and Koutarou even chuckles. For years, Kuroo has been his biggest support and help, always rooting him on with others gave up, even if he himself couldn't teach Koutarou either.

 

But Akaashi stiffens and gives Kuroo an icy glare. “Bokuto-san is very smart and anyone who says otherwise is wrong. You should know that better than anyone,  _ Kuroo.”  _

 

Koutarou all but drops his utensil as he stares in pure shock. Kuroo blinks at Akaashi twice as Sawamura puts himself between the two, hands raised in a placating manner. “Ah, Akaashi, he's only kidding. Tetsu just—”

 

A laugh spills from Kuroo's lips, sudden and short and morphing his face into a smug smirk. “I get it now.”

 

Akaashi narrows their eyes. “Get what?’

 

“Oh, I think you know, Akaashi.” Then he laughs again, twirls his finger in the air, and saunters off to his bedroom.  

 

Sawamura looks between the hall and Akaashi a couple times before giving a short bow. “I apologize for my idiot.”

 

Akaashi clenches a fist, sighs. “No, I was at fault. I'm sorry, Sawamura-san.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Akaashi. He has that effect on people.”

 

After Sawamura has left, Koutarou plates up their dinner in silence. Neither of them says anything until Koutarou sits, driven mad by the buzzing silence and tension.

 

“He was joking, you know. Tetsurou is my best friend, after all.”

 

Akaashi curls a fist, uncurls it. A pout rests on their lips and they look off to the side, glaring at some invisible enemy. “I know,” they finally say, picking up their chopsticks. Teal eyes flicker to Koutarou's face, but only for a second. “It was just… an instinctive reaction.”

 

“Instinctive?” Koutarou almost spits food across the table. Akaashi raises a brow and Koutarou slows down, sallows, before speaking again. “But why?”

 

Akaashi falls quiet again. This time for so long that Koutarou thinks they'll leave without another word.

 

But then, after the last bite of their dinner, “There are a lot of things you don't hear, Bokuto-san.”

 

That's all they say before thanking him for the dinner, and then leaving like a winter storm.

 

*

 

_ Keiji's second year brought them to Nationals again. _

 

_ Bokuto was there too, loud, full of energy, and even more confident than the year before. He has always drawn people in, encouraging them to do them all to do their best, even his opponents. Keiji watched all his games that they could, watched how Bokuto served, received, spiked. A lot of his moves seemed ridiculous and silly, but they all were powerful and effective. Keiji figured no one gave him as much credit as he deserved, because even if Bokuto didn’t plan, he moved well on instinct. _

 

_ The setter was new that year, but still, up against Keiji’s team, Bokuto’s fell, and Keiji will never forget the look on Bokuto’s face afterwards.  _

 

*

 

A couple weeks pass. 

 

Practices get more intense, but Koutarou even starts asking Akaashi to toss for him, and Akaashi never refuses, no matter how late it gets, and he realizes that no one has ever tossed to him quite as well. Akaashi comes over when they can, staying a little longer each time, and Koutarou even passes a pop quiz. When he tells Akaashi this, Akaashi gives him a gentle, full smile. Their eyes even close and they say, “good job, Bokuto-san. I knew you could do it.” 

 

Koutarou stills, stares, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. Something warm rushes through his veins and into his stomach, like a waterfall, and Koutarou can hear his own heart roaring in his ears. “Uh,” he swallows, licks his lips. “Thanks. I mean, it’s all thanks to you!”

 

The two of them do some more homework in relative silence after that. Or, well, Akaashi does. Koutarou keeps stealing glances upwards, creating a list of things about them. How they’re always fidgeting in someway, but if they’re actually anxious, it turns into pinching at their own fingers and biting their lip. How, even when their face stays stoic, Akaashi’s eyes tell him everything he needs to know, now that  _ he  _ what to look for. How Akaashi has a patience that Koutarou has only seen run out two times, and not once with him. How their smile makes Koutarou feel like he is on cloud nine, how—  

 

Koutarou stands up quick, almost falling backwards with the chair. Akaashi’s head snaps up, eyebrows drawn together. “Bokuto-san? Is something the matter?” 

 

“Nope!” He squeaks. “I’m great!” Koutarou walks into the kitchen, not missing how Akaashi’s hand reaches out, fingers trailing over Koutarou’s arm in question. Goosebumps raise on his arm. “I’m making a rum and coke,” he decides. Anything that will calm his nerves, which are currently fizzling out of control, like a firecracker. “Would you like one?” 

 

Akaashi turns around in their chair, concern evident in their expression. “Are you—”

 

Again, the door slams open, because Kuroo can never make a quiet entrance, and Koutarou groans. 

 

“Hey!” Kuroo says, before Koutarou or Akaashi can even turn in his direction. “Play ‘don’t drink and drive’ with us!” 

 

“Tetsu, I don’t think—”

 

“What, Dai, scared I’ll kick your ass?” 

 

“Well, okay, fine, but you asked for it.” 

 

“What is ‘don’t drink and drive’?” Akaashi’s voice is quiet, calm amidst the storm brewing in the apartment. 

 

Koutarou makes his drink a little stronger than usual. 

 

“You best make three more drinks bro!” Kuroo says to him, before turning on Akaashi with a shit eating grin. “It’s when you play Mario Kart and have to finish a drink before the race is over, but you can’t have the controller and drink in your hand at the same time. One has to be on the floor at all times.” 

 

“Normally it’s done with beer.” Koutarou says. 

 

“That’s boring.” 

 

Koutarou sighs, turning to Sawamura. “Please talk some sense into your boyfriend.” 

 

“Sorry, no can do,” Sawamura places a kiss to Kuroo’s cheek. “I’d like to see this chaos play out as well.” 

 

Well, so much for Sawamura being the smart one in that relationship. Koutarou turns to Akaashi, his last and only lifeline. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.” 

 

But Akaashi is already smirking, the need for victory sharp in their eyes and Koutarou is  _ so screwed.  _

~

“Holy hell, Akaashi!” Kuroo slurs. “You gotta play against Kenma sometime. He deserves to get his ass kicked every now and then.”

 

They’re on race number four, which is one more than they probably should have done. Koutarou is sitting at zero wins, head spinning, yelling every curse he can think of as he trails Akaashi. 

 

“You just need to get good,” Akaashi says, and then giggles. 

 

Koutarou almost drops his controller at the sound. It’s a loud and broken up noise, like a stone skipping across water, but it is everything he has ever wanted to hear. Koutarou looks over, sees Akaashi leaning forward, face flushed, tongue sticking out the side of their mouth as they focus. An empty cups rests in front of them, as Akaashi’s strategy is to chug their drink at the start of the race, before even touching their controller. It has proven very effective. 

 

Sawamura yells victoriously as he bumps into Kuroo, who in turn, bumps into Koutarou, jarring him out of his Akaashi-trance. He turns back to the screen to find Sawamura hitting him with a red shell, zipping past him. Sighing, he lifts his glass, downs the rest of it, and tries to salvage any remaining pride as he attempts to catch up. 

 

It proves futile, because when Akaashi passes the finish line, first place again, they raise their arms up and let out a yell, laughing, and fall into Koutarou’s side. Koutarou does drop the controller this time. Kuroo notices and smirks, nudging his boyfriend. 

 

“I think we should call it a night, don’t you, Dai?” 

 

“What? But—” Koutarou can just barely see Kuroo gesturing in his direction and then Sawamura is laughing loudly. Koutarou can’t believe he ever forgot that Sawamura is just as bad as Kuroo. If not worse. “I guess going to your bed isn’t so bad.” 

 

“We might not even make it to the bed.” Kuroo remarks, leaning towards Sawamura. 

 

“Gross,” Koutarou finally says, kicking Kuroo. “Please get out.” 

 

Giggles and and unnecessarily loud kisses sound from the hallway before Kuroo’s door finally,  _ finally,  _ closes. A content hum sounds from Koutarou’s side and the alcohol is suddenly doing nothing for his nerves anymore. He is hyper aware of the warmth pressed against him, of the arm falling onto his knee. 

 

“Akaashi?” He says, heart hammering so hard, he’s surprised it hasn’t leapt straight out of his chest yet. 

 

“Bokuto-san,” they breathe, and Koutarou can see a smile on their lips again. “I had fun tonight. I like your friends.” 

 

It’s the alcohol, Koutarou tells himself, it’s the alcohol that’s making Akaashi lean into him even more and making Koutarou want to hug them in return.

 

“I’m glad! But next time I’ll beat you!” 

 

Akaashi shifts, lifting their head to look into Kouratou’s eyes. The teal of theirs is soft, unbearably so, like the ocean on a calm, sunny day. “Bokuto-san, can I tell you something?” 

 

“Anything,” Koutarou’s voice comes out as a whisper, his breath stolen. 

 

“In high school, I knew you hated me, but I couldn’t understand why, beyond my team always beating yours, but I always admired you. I was always jealous of your setter, because… I wanted to toss for you.” 

 

Koutarou can’t breathe, can’t hear, can only feel the sensation of fingers tracing his cheekbone before falling onto his knee, can only see Akaashi glance at his lips, look deep into his eyes, and then—  

 

Akaashi falls into Koutarou’s chest, heavy. 

 

“Akaashi? Akaashi, are you okay?” 

 

A moment passes and then Koutarou hears a snore and he slams his head into the back of the couch and groans. 

 

*

 

_ Keiji walked into the gym on their first day of university and stopped short. _

 

_ In front of them, talking to the coach, was Bokuto Koutarou. Keiji hadn’t knoen before that Bokuto attended here and a shock of excitement ran down their spine.  _

 

_ When the coach called them over to line up with the other first years, Bokuto turned towards them and scowled. Keiji knew, had known for a while, that Bokuto wasn’t a fan of them. They thought it probably had to do with their team always pulling the victory out of his eager hands.  _

 

_ But Bokuto didn’t seem the type to hold a grudge for that. Keiji wondered what else it could have been.  _

 

_ None of it really mattered though, in the end, because watching Bokuto play, learning what type of tosses Bokuto liked, only endeared Keiji even more until they had already fallen for the star in front of them.  _

 

_ That was when they learned that one sided affections hurt the most.  _

 

*

 

Koutarou wakes the next morning to Akaashi wrapped around him. 

 

Any confusion from the night before is gone as his skin heats up, stomach swarming with butterflies, hand reaching to card through soft, raven curls before he can even think twice about it. He knows exactly what  _ this _ is. 

 

Groaning again, Koutarou checks the time, and almost drops Akaashi off the couch in his panic. Luckily, they seem to be a heavy sleeper, so he readjusts them before getting ready in record time and sprinting out the door. 

~

Koutarou slams the door open, elated when the person he wants to see most is still there. 

 

“Akaashi!” 

 

“Bokuto-san,” they say, quietly. They’re wearing the same clothes as the night before, skinny jeans and a grey sweater, which now hangs off of one shoulder. Their eyes are lidded, face wearing a sleepy pout. 

 

_ Adorable.  _

 

“I’m glad you’re still here!” 

 

“Yeah, about that—” 

 

“Akaashi, look!  _ Look! _ ” Koutarou thrusts a paper into Akaashi’s face. 

 

Akaashi blinks at it before they sit straighter, suddenly awake, and bring it closer to their face. “Bokuto-san!” They look up at him, eyes wide, a lopsided, open smile spreading up their face. “You passed!” 

 

“I got a  _ 90!  _ I’ve never scored that high in math before!” 

 

“I knew you could do it!” Akaashi jumps up, throws their arms around Koutarou’s neck. “I’m so proud of you.” 

 

Koutarou doesn’t hesitate in pulling Akaashi close, lifting them and spinning around. “Thank you,” he says, setting Akaashi down. “Thank you, really, so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

 

“I merely pointed you in the right direction.” 

 

“Akaashi! Let me compliment you! You really helped me out.” 

 

And there it is, a faint blush starting at Akaashi’s ears. “Well… you’re welcome.” 

 

“I have something else to tell you.” 

 

They start fiddling with their hands. “Uh, okay.” 

 

Koutarou is shaking, he knows he is, but his smile is also so full, he can feel it in his eyes, and his heart is soaring. “Akaashi,” he says, grabbing for their hands. Akaashi looks up at him, eyes vulnerable, as if Koutarou is about to deliver bad news. Koutarou leans his head down, never breaking eye contact, and places a kiss to one of their fingers. 

 

A sharp intake of breath. “Bokuto-san?” 

 

“I like you.” 

 

This time, for the first time, the blush is bright red and covering their entire face. “You-you do?” 

 

Koutarou nods, leaning to kiss the other fingers, one at a time, and then he laces their hands between them. “Yes. Please go out with me.” 

 

Akaashi stares for a moment longer, shock and excitement flashing in their eyes, and then they look down at their hands, turns them over and squeezes Koutarou’s before letting go, hugging Koutatou even tighter than before.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yeah? You’ll be my lover?” 

 

“Yes, but don’t call it that.”

 

“Then can I call you Keiji?” 

 

If possible, Akaashi’s arms tighten even more around him. “Yes,”  they sound close to crying. 

 

“Call me Koutarou.” 

 

Akaashi says nothing, but they shift to bury their face in his neck, lips brushing his skin. 

 

“Keiji.”

 

Koutarou feels their lips purse, and then they pull away, just enough to look into his eyes. “Koutarou.” 

 

It’s the most beautiful sound Koutarou has ever heard and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and crashing their lips together. Akaashi doesn’t seem to mind, as their hands reach behind his neck, pulling him down, until they’re both on the couch, Akaashi underneath him, lips moving against his as if dancing to a song they’ve waited their whole life for. 

 

Their hands are shaking as they trail under his shirt and Koutarou smiles, pressing more into the kiss.  _ So much for pretentious and perfect,  _ Koutarou thinks. He runs his hands up and down Akaashi’s sides, loving how they shiver under his touch, and amends the nickname: 

 

Koutarou’s “beautiful and flawed” Keiji, the most perfect person Koutarou has ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have never played Don't Drink and Drive.... it is chaos and it is so much fun hahaha 
> 
> Let me know what you think and come sob about bokuaka with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/starsoakedskin?s=09) :3


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